Of Flowers and Ashes (and Everything In-between)
by Seerwood
Summary: Series of Carol and Daryl related one-shots, set over varying time periods. Caryl. Rated T for Dixon swears.
1. Woodbury Bourbon

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or any of the ****characters.**

_a/n: This is probably going to be a series of Caryl related drabbles. I have numerous half started/odd lines/sayings etc that have popped into my head, written quickly down on a notepad and saved for later use. Hope I can do some justice with these stories._

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><p><em>...<em>

**Of Flowers and Ashes (and Everything In-between)**

**Woodbury Bourbon**

Daryl groaned and banded one arm about his head as light filtered thinly into his cell. He lay on his bunk in the same clothing he'd been wearing the night before, and his booted feet stuck off the edge of his bunk. His head ached miserably, and he hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. God damned noisy Woodbury asses, he grumbled to himself. He'd been in biker joints less rowdy.

Cursing, he made his way out of his cell, grabbing his crossbow off the top bunk. He paused in the doorway, eyes narrowing. Glenn had volunteered for his watch shift in the tower, and must have let him sleep in late. As if he didn't know why...must have been yet another hot date with Maggie, Daryl thought glowering.

His boots clanged every step he took down the metal stairs and he winced with every footfall. Fuckin' headache was all he needed now. He thought he'd pass by Hershel's cell, see if the old man had some painkillers, anything to take the edge of this pain burrowing through his forehead with hot knives.

A week ago, Woodbury refugees had come to the prison for sanctuary. Daryl couldn't really blame them. The Governor was one sick sadistic fucker. But...they'd overwhelmed the prison, Daryl couldn't move without tripping over some kid, or old person, and the amount of personal belongings they'd brought with them. Bagpacks, handbags, jackets lay strewn around carelessly, and while normally he didn't care nor minded, there was only a certain amount of human crap and personal debris that he could tolerate. It made him feel claustrophobic.

It had come to a head the other night, when one particularly elderly dear had gripped his arm with steely claws, asking him...well whistling through her false teeth if he could ever so possibly guide her to the ladies powder room. Daryl had fled then, in sheer panic.

They'd been celebrating last night, nothing special, but Hershel had agreed with Rick's idea that they should let their hair down for a while, good for morale and all that crap. Life at the prison had reached a steady even pace. Nothing bad, no shit hitting the proverbial fan. It was good, quiet, but good. Rick was still playing farmer with the old man's help, surprisingly even Carl had swapped his gun for a shovel. Even so, Daryl couldn't relax, couldn't help at the knot in his gut. It felt to him like the quiet before a shit storm. He did runs with Michonne, foraging for supplies, hunting, taking down walkers at the fences, more than his fair share of guard duty in the watchtower...but he never let his guard down fully. Was always on the lookout for signs of anything that would threaten their little community.

He felt like a caged animal. So, when Rick had turned up last night with Karen and a few others, the largest shit-eating grin plastered on his face, bottles of liquor clutched in their hands, Daryl had reluctantly agreed that the Woodbury folks might actually have a few good points. Especially the bottle of Jim Beam that Daryl had spied, and quickly claimed for his own.

He'd spent most of the night sat on the stairs, bottle in hand, watching the others, trying desperately to ignore the giggling coming two steps behind him from Maggie and Glenn. Pair where joined at the hip, he'd thought sourly, while his eyes had searched the group for Carol. He'd been disappointed when she hadn't shown up until later in the night and by that time, half of good ol' Jim Beam had ended up down his throat, glowing in his belly nicely.

Beth had sang, and while it was pleasant enough (some dirgy love song that he didn't know, nor cared what the words were), he'd winced as Maggie joined in loudly, causing him to spin in his seat and glare up at her. Glenn had toed his back playfully with his shoe, and Daryl had turned back around, facing the group, grimacing. The Korean hadn't drunk much, and Daryl had smirked then, remembering just how shit-faced Glenn had been that one time at the CDC.

Then Carol was there, threading her way through the group, eyes quirking in surprise at Rick, who had slumped in his chair, only to miss it, and land on the floor in a heavy tangle of arms and legs. Laughter had rung out brightly, and a giggling Michonne had helped Rick stagger back to his feet, grinning largely at the former sheriff.

Daryl had grunted, and when his gaze met with Carol's, he had felt his own shit-eating grin plaster across his face as he drunkenly swatted at the space next to him, motioning her to sit. He'd been aware of her eyes, guardedly watching him, bright, voluminous and oh so blue, and he had thought then that he could quite happily drown in those eyes. Her knee had brushed against his thigh as she took her place next to him, and he had felt himself flush at the contact, his skin warming pleasantly, more so when she placed her hand loosely on his knee. He'd asked why she was so long joining them, and had felt an immediate annoyance when she said that she'd put the kids to bed, read them a story. Like no-one else in the whole fuckin' prison could do that. It was always her, and it pissed him off no end that Rick and everyone else would just damn well let her.

He had growled at her, and she had put her hand up to her mouth, eyes crinkling as she laughed behind her palm. Daryl had had to admit that her whole face lit up when she laughed, and it made him feel happy. She was just too god-damned beautiful for her own good. Ed had been a prick, didn't appreciate just what a woman he'd had. Daryl was glad that the sorry son of a bitch was dead. It still angered him how a man like that, could so much as lay a finger on a woman as wonderful as her. Nobody would ever touch her like that again, he'd vowed. He would see to it.

The rest of the night had passed in a blur, which Daryl put down to fatigue more than the amount of bourbon he had downed. Least he hoped. He also hoped that he hadn't done anything untoward. He knew that the booze had freed up his voice a little, freed up his overt shyness and awkwardness of being around others.

...

He paused on the way to Hershel's cell, trying to wrack his aching head for anything that he could have said, or done. Then with a pang, he remembered his head drooping on to Carols shoulder, her arm slipping about his waist, of how he didn't complain much at all about that. Daryl rubbed a hand over his face, calloused palm rasping against his stubble. Couldn't remember much else apart from being repeatedly kicked in the ribs by that grinning Korean.

Hershel's voice sounded strained, and from the sounds of it, the old man wasn't having much luck getting a word in edgeways over the barrage of other voices. Daryl saw at least five former Woodbury residents herding around the entrance, one of them being the old broad with the whistling teeth. Daryl flattened himself to the wall, the compulsion to back pedal his way to his cell tempting . The words _haemorrhoids _, _heart burn_, and _bunions _reached him and sighing through gritted teeth, he moved from the wall and thundered his way to the cell.

Daryl stood there for a split second, before saying loudly, "That man ain't no quack. He's a fuckin' veterinarian!" He was instantly rewarded with a few gasps of shock, eyes wide as mouths gaped open. Daryl smirked at them, most of the Woodbury people didn't know that Hershel wasn't what they thought he was, and while his group was comfortable with Hershel treating them, the Woodbury lot were used to real doctors. Bunch o' pampered asses Daryl thought, the smirk growing wider as they pushed past him, voices low as they muttered between themselves, rushing from his cell.

He nodded at Hershel, saw that the old man looked tired and pale. "Ya a'right, man?" he asked gruffly.

"I am now. Thank you, son," Hershel smiled at him wanly. "Not a minute to myself lately. Although now they realise I am just a mere vet, I would hope to see them less. I would hope."

Daryl shrugged at him, murmuring, "S'okay." He wanted to ask for some pills for his headache, but seeing the pained look on Hershel's face, he decided against it. Decided to let the guy be. He'd cope with the headache...maybe he could find Carol, and she'd have some stashed in her backpack. He smiled inwardly at the thought of having a good excuse to see her. Maybe she'd want to pamper him, and maybe he'd let her if he could reign the cowardice back in for a while.

...

Stepping out into the courtyard, he glanced up at the dull sky. It was heavy, overcast and he felt the first spatters of rain coolly hit his face.

"Hey, Daryl."

He looked as Glenn made his way hurriedly across to him, a strange smile on the young man's face. Daryl narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Usually when Glenn looked like that, the younger man had a secret he was bursting fit to yak on.

"Was just wondering if I could ask you something, but don't yell," Glenn asked quickly, amusement tinting his voice.

Daryl sighed, the pain in his head increasing tenfold. "What?"

Glenn grinned broadly at Daryl, taking a step back, looking as if he was poised to run. "Last night, we erm... overheard you talking to Carol. And me and Maggie have been taking a bet. So...what _exactly _is a Pookie?"

...


	2. Sorrow

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or any of the characters.**

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><p>...<p>

**Sorrow.**

_The large wood doors swung open slowly, creaking loudily in the sudden silence. Heavy stagnant shadows masked the interior, while the sun blazed brightly overhead, almost as if to warm the mass of black bloodied corpses littering the hard dry ground. A frail breeze whispered, sending tendrils of dust in the air, swirling, lighting softly upon the bodies, as if to cover them in their shame._

_They stood there in the silence, in trepidation, as a lone small figure scuffled dirty tattered sneakers from the dark, into the light. Pale arms reached outwards, almost beesinchingly, as opaque eyes swiveled upwards, dirty blonde hair whisping away in the slight wind. Lips peeled back into a feral snarl as a low guttural moan rocked the small figure. The shamboling gait turned, focusing on them, and the small arms lifted higher into the air. The small girl in the filthy blue T-shirt faced them, not seeing who they were and what they had meant to her once, but seeing what they were and what they meant now, and the one single aimless compulsion that drove all walkers, drove her, compelling her further out of the barn._

_Fleeing across the dirt, she had run to her little girl, her voice calling, screaming, pleading "Sophia" as strong arms had whipped her back, driving her to her knees. Holding her. And that single crack of gunfire had seemed the loudest that she had ever heard, and the thud of the small body hitting the arid earth, the singular most heartbreaking..._

Carol woke suddenly, Sophia's name still imprinted on her lips. Her heart thumped brokenly in her chest, her breathing shallow and ragged. One hand was tangled in the sheet of her bed, wrapped in a knot around her tightly clenched fist. She shut her eyes, willing her heart to slow its tumultous beat, and moving her head slightly on the pillow, her cheek against the worn cotton, she was aware of the dampness there from tears she'd shed.

She felt the tight numbness in her chest as if it were on old familiar friend. She blinked rapidly in the darkness, and stifled a sob before it burst from her throat, not wishing to wake the others around her from their slumbers. Part of her welcomed the grief, could still feel the rawness as it piqued at her heart. Sighing, she slowly sat up, clutching the sheet to herself, one hand flattening out, smoothing across her cheek, smearing the tears from her eyes.

Carol sat there for a few moments, listening to the stillness of the prison, holding the sheet like a shield over her heart, before suddenly throwing it off, and dragging her boots on to her feet, her old threadbare jacket about her shoulders.

She slipped soundlessly from her tiny room, her feet carrying her towards Daryls cell. She paused in front of it, wanting to see him, to feel his implacable solid presence, a soothing balm to her heartache, but the need to not disturb him moved her more. Pressing her lips tightly togther, she stepped away, moving instead to the door that led to the courtyard.

The light of the moonlight guided her feet, and she stopped as she felt the first fine droplets of rain hit her skin. Holding her head high, she let the cool rain soothe her jangled nerves.

The scraping of boots against metal caused her eyes to flutter open, and Carol suddenly felt self conscious, stood there in the rain. Her eyes quickly scanned for the source of the sound. A dark shape moved above her, and she let out a shaky sigh of releif as she recognised the mans shadow pacing up at the watchtower. Rick.

She climbed up and lifted the trap door, letting it drop slowly with one hand. He was stood with the binoculars held loosely in one hand, his mouth quirking slightly as he saw her.

"Couldn't sleep?" Rick asked.

"Bad dreams," she replied tightly.

"I know those," Rick said softly, his head tilting to one side as he watched her. "After Lori, I...I didn't think I'd be able to sleep again. But you do," his shoulders shrugged sadly. "You cope. You have too."

"I know," she answered, glancing away from him, unable to bear the scrutiny in his blue eyes.

"Walkers are quiet," he said, gesturing to the fences with the binoculars.

"Rick," Carol asked suddenly, then felt foolish as he regarded her with a slight upturn of his lips. "I just wanted to...thank you."

His eyebrow quirked. "For what?"

Carol paused before answering him. "For getting us here," she gestured expansively. "The prison. I know it hasn't been easy for any of us, but we are safe, and we are together."

He laughed softly, "We work together Carol. Joint effort. It's what we do."

"I know, but I just wanted to say thank you."

He smiled at her, one hand reaching out to grasp her shoulder, fingers squeezing gently. "And I appreciate that."

She faced away from him as he raised the binoculars back to his eyes, and she gripped the bars that bordered the tower, feeling the cold metal chill her skin momentarily. She'd wanted to thank him, not for the prison, but for that one time back at the farm. His bullet ending her daughters new unwanted life. She couldn't have done that then. Maybe even now she couldn't have done it. She would never have the chance to find out. A shudder ran through her at the thought.

She was broken from her reverie by a large stifled yawn coming from behind her, and on turning around, she saw Rick give her an almost sheepish grin.

She smiled, "I can take watch if you want to catch some sleep Rick."

"I would feel guilty," he complained half-heartedly.

"And I would insist," she chastised him. "I'm awake anyway."

He looked at her, his hand briefly clasping her shoulder again. "Thank you," he murmered, handing her the binoculars.

She watched after him as he moved away, as he made his way back to the prison door, watching as it clicked shut behind him. She let out a sigh, and resumed his watch.

She hadn't really grieved after Ed had died. Not at all. And even if she had felt some small marked measure of grief for him, it had been out of fear and misguided loyalty, rather than love or compassion. Carol was glad that the woman she had been had died the moment she had swung that pickaxe. She wondered why it had taken so long for her to realise the simple fact that she didn't love him.

The only blessing from that union (and she shuddered to remember his drunken fumblings, his quick anger and even quicker fists) had been Sophia. The girl had been nothing of her father, and for that she'd always been thankful. Sophia's looks, manners and mannerisms had come from her side of the family. Not his. And she knew that fact was yet another thing that had always angered him. He'd accused her of having an affair, of bearing him a bastard child...and he had beaten her senseless when she had done no such thing.

She missed Sophia with an ache that ran through to her soul. Tears misted her eyes thickly, and she made no attempt to hide them. She didn't bother to hold back the sob that rose out from her mouth. She wrapped her arms about herself, hugging herself tightly as she remembered her beautiful bright eyed child.

She didn't hear the trapdoor close quietly behind her, didn't see him stood there sadly regarding her. She just wanted her grief. She sniffled to herself, and then she heard him. "Carol," he said quietly.

Turning her head, she saw Daryl stood there, biting his lip as he did when he seemed nervous. He shifted from one foot to the other, but his eyes never left her face. She gave him a small tight smile and turned back from him, trying to regain her composure. She flinched suddenly as his hand rested on her arm. She found she couldn't look at him.

"I dreamt about Sophia ," she said quietly. She heard the hiss of his breath behind her at the mention of her daughters name. "It's always the same dream. I...I see her, coming out of that barn, and all I can hear...all I can hear is Ricks' gun." She grasped the metal rail firmly as if it was a lifeline, her knuckles turning white. A deep sob escaped her before she could reign it back in, and she cursed herself as fresh tears spilled hotly down her cheeks. Ed would have taunted her for being weak, if he'd been alive.

Daryl watched her, his face unreadable. His fingers clasped tighter about her arm.

"C'mere," she heard him say roughly and the next minute, she was burying her face in his chest. His arms went around her, holding her tightly to him, one hand at the nape of her neck, cupping her head, his thumb brushing against her hair.

She cried then, her tears splashing his shirt, dampening the thin material. "'M here," he said gruffily, his lips close to her ear, "'M always here." She felt his stubble against her cheek, and she buried her face into his neck, inhaling the scent of him. His hand moved up from her neck, his palm now brushing against her hair, holding her close. He held her as she cried, and she wondered at the fact that Ed had never held her this way.

She sighed wistfully and edged away from him, placing one hand on his chest, trying to put some space between them, trying to ignore the racing pulse beneath her palm.

"I'm sorry Daryl. I don't make it a habit of crying on folks."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't let her go. His hands were banded around her waist. "Ya don't have nothin' to apologise for," he said.

She smiled at him wanly. His eyes watched her intently, dark and foreboding, and she felt a shiver run through her as one hand ran lightly up her back, pressing her more firmly to him.

"I should go back," she said weakly, all thoughts of manning the watchtower leaving her.

"Nope," Daryl growled, and she couldn't help but feel mildly alarmed at this sudden change in him. He was usually so meek, and she was normally the bold one. She tentatively reached up, and traced a finger down his cheek, wondering at the fact that any contact like this would normally make him bolt for the woods. But he suprised her again.

He caught her hand in his, pressing her finger to his lips. "Ya don't think I hear ya crying, do ya?" he said softly. "But I do. An' it hurts me." He frowned. "I wish I could'a done more. Found ya little girl for ya."

Carol looked at him, and felt her heart break all over again. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swallowed as his thumb caught the drop. "You couldn't have done more than you did." She pressed her forehead to his chest, whispering,"You did more for her than her own father did."

Daryl didn't answer. Instead his hand cupped her chin, pulling her face up to his gently. He paused, and she could read the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. She leant against him, her heart racing, and before she could change her mind, she pressed her lips quickly to his. The kiss was brief and awkward, neither knowing how to react to this moment. She stood back from him, as far as his arm would allow, and she smiled.

Daryl stared at her, his blue eyes crinkling suddenly, and then he pulled her up for another kiss, his lips pressing more firmly, and moving against hers. She felt a flicker of his tongue at her lips, and she giggled in surprise against his mouth.

"What?" he breathed at her.

She just smiled at him, for the first time feeling her heart thaw a little.

"I like you," he growled, slowly smirking at her.

Carol leant her head against the crook of his neck, feeling his arms tighten around her, and said, "I liked you first."

...


	3. Boots

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I would like to thank everyone that has left a review. Your kind words mean a lot, and are ever so gratefully appreciated. Thank you._

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><p>...<p>

**Boots**

"What's wron' with yer, woman?" Daryl grumbled as she sloshed through the puddles, hurrying to keep up with him. Rain lashed down at them heavily, soaking them and thunder boomed warningly overhead.

Their feet kicked up sprays of water off the concrete, and Carol squinted against the rain, casting her eyes to the fences. There wasn't a single walker in sight. She glowered at him, moisture running rivulets down her face, "What's the rush?" She hissed, "It's not as if there's going to be many walkers out in this weather."

"Exactly," Daryl said, turning his head momentarily over his shoulder, smirking at her.

Carol rolled her eyes at him, making a face behind his back. Her feet were soaked and chilled, and she could feel water sloshing uncomfortably in her shoes. She had been nice and comfortable, _and warm _reading her book in her cell back at the prison. Had been until Daryl had stomped in, and to everybody's surprise, grabbed her arm, hissing in her ear that she was coming with him. Her heart had leapt in her chest then, silently marvelling at the fact that he might have actually overcome his shyness with her... but no. She was out here in the pouring freezing rain, while everyone else were toasting their toes back at the prison.

"Where are we going?" she asked warily.

"On a run," Daryl said, stopping beside the car and throwing the door open. "Get in."

...

They had driven for miles, the journey itself unmarked by incident, but the drive was in an awkward silence and she longed to break it. But every time she peeked a look at him, the words dried in her mouth. He hadn't looked or spoken to her since they'd gotten into the car, and not for the first time, she wondered what what she could have possibly done. His eyes were narrowed, staring straight at the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, she could see that pale contrast of his knuckles. She slumped further into the seat, trying to forget the way her clothes clung to her soddenly, her hands fidgeting in her lap, and she saw by the way he was frowning, he was trying his best to ignore her.

Carol sighed loudly and kicked off her shoe as he drove. She picked it up, and emptied water out of it, glancing at him as she heard his sharp intake off breath. "Great," she complained loudly, "I'm soaked through." She wiggled her toes, trying to feel some life return to her numbed digits.

"Yer annoyin' me, woman," Daryl eventually said, shaking his head a little. "Quit complainin'."

She gaped at him, eyebrows raised,"Why? Because I'm all wet? Because I got a hole in my damned shoe?"

Daryl didn't take his eyes off the road. "Mhm," he growled.

"I wouldn't be if you hadn't had dragged me out. I don't know what your problem is, Daryl."

"You are."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Daryl glanced at her, smirking. "What I said. You're my problem."

...

Daryl had gone on a run two days previously. With the influx from Woodbury, spare clothing was getting scarce, and tempers were getting rife with the new arrivals starting to be a drain on their already dwindling resources. Rick had organised a small group to recon a new area just outside of their normal range. What with all the near local areas dwindling in loot, Daryl had scouted with Michonne, and had informed Rick that this new place hadn't had been as ransacked as much as the other places they'd been to.

Many from the Woodbury group were still wearing relatively new clothing, or clothing that was a damn sight less worn than what their own small group had. _Especially __Carol_. She always seemed to be the last in line when clothing from runs had been distributed, always seemed to hang back and whenever it was her turn to pick, she'd either offer the clothing back to the others, or say that things were too large for her to wear or too small. And she was still wearing the same threadbare jacket, and the same damned worn shoes, and it had irritated him immensely.

He had gone with Glenn, Maggie, Tyreese and Sasha, figuring that the two women would have more of an idea on what type of clothing would be appropriate, Daryl himself would have just grabbed the first few things he saw. Although, this time was different, this time he was going to search for a few things for himself, for Carol. He didn't know why, or even question himself why he couldn't just let Maggie, or Sasha pick for her. It just wasn't an option. He _wanted _to do it.

There hadn't been that many walkers to deal with. They'd seen some lumbering a few miles up the road, and they had looked like they were starting to form a small herd, maybe ten or so, but a few of the walkers were so withered and skeletal, limbs barely hanging on by a few tatters of flesh, that Daryl had thought at the time, a damn good wind could have blown the fucker's over. He hadn't been greatly concerned, but Glenn had pointed out that the herd could have the possibility of growing and heading for the prison, although Daryl had doubted that. Even so, they'd gotten out of the car, headed to the walkers and put them down quickly enough, Glenn and Maggie almost back to back as they'd slashed through heads, as Tyreese cracked rotten skulls into pulp with his hammer, and Daryl's crossbow took out the last few stragglers on the edges of the group.

There had been two walkers in the small store, milling about aimlessly, and they'd been easily dispatched with a bolt, and Maggie's knife. He'd smirked at her sudden loud groan, when the walkers head had popped open with an audible crunch, spattering her T-shirt bloodily, then the sound of sneakered feet squeaking on the floor as Glenn had darted to her side. Sasha had glanced over, rolling her eyes as Glenn fretted over Maggie. Tyreese stood guard in the doorway and his large dark eyes had flickered over them impassively, one hand clutching at the hammer hanging at his side on his belt.

"Limited space remember," Sasha had called, watching Maggie and Glenn rifle through the shelves, holding an item of clothing up, gauging the size, then discarding. Glenn had given her a small tight nod, sighing as he put back two baseball caps clutched in his hand. Maggie had frowned and said, "God no, Glenn. No hats!"

Daryl had grunted then, seeing that Sasha's backpack was crammed tight, and she was stuffing a few plaid shirts and pairs of thick woollen socks into the backpack Tyreese bore. Smiling, she had patted her brother on the arm, casting her eyes back at Daryl as she took watch, waiting with Tyreese. Seeing that was his cue, Daryl had strode to the back of the building, frowning as he couldn't see what he was looking for. He kicked a few boxes across the floor, stomping on another, before his eyes lighted on what he'd been searching for. Several pairs of boots had been carelessly stacked on the shop floor, and Daryl had grimaced when he realised that he had no clue what size Carol wore. His eyes narrowed in concentration, trying to recall the exact size, but all he could think was that she had small feet. Growling with irritation, he had picked a pair of black ones, and stuffed them into his own backpack.

"We're done," Glenn had said, motioning to Daryl that he and Maggie couldn't carry anything else, and they'd left the small building.

Carol had been so pleased with her new boots, that Daryl had almost puffed up in pride. He had asked her to try them on, make sure they'd fitted, but she had smiled and waved him away with one hand. The next day he had been angry to see Maggie wearing them.

...

Carol looked at Daryl warily as he pulled up some small distance from the entrance of the small store. His shoulder brushed against hers as he reached across to pull his backpack and crossbow off the back seat. Glancing at the sky, she felt thankful that the rain had eased off for a while, but her feet still swished damply inside her shoes as she got out of the car. She took her knife from her belt, grasping it firmly, watching as Daryl shouldered the backpack, and with a quick nod to her, walked towards the entrance, crossbow poised. He turned to her, beckoning her with a wave of his hand. She quickly stood next to him, noticing his line of sight as he pointed to two walkers shuffling around a long since abandoned car. He motioned her to stay, and crouching, he edged nearer to them, letting bolts fly into their heads in quick succession. He stooped forward, retrieving the bolts, and he gave her a smile then, and as it brief as it was, Carol felt her heart lift at the sight of it.

They stepped into the store side by side, Daryl's hand suddenly on her arm, gripping her tightly, cautioning her to stop. She looked at him warily, brow furrowed, lips pursed, and he gave her an apologetic look. Nodding, she clasped her knife higher, and stepped into the shadows.

No walkers.

She lowered the knife, slipping it into it's sheath at her waist, watching as he lowered his crossbow. He motioned her to the back of the small store, his lips quirking at her, and she found she couldn't stop the smile form on her lips.

Daryl was stood behind her, and she thought she could hear her pulse quicken loudly in her veins at his sudden close proximity. His hand snaked out and grasped her arm again. She sighed under her breath as he pulled her with him, stopping suddenly. Carol frowned as she saw a pile of new boots laying haphazardly all over the floor.

"We ain't leaving 'til you pick a pair," Daryl grumbled from behind her, his breath ghosting at her neck. She felt her skin prickle at the sensation. "And ya can try 'em on, find ones that fit."

She stared at him, and all she could finally think to say was, "Why?"

Daryl paused, biting his lip. He sighed, and said gruffly, "You give to others, I've seen ya...and you never take anythin' for yourself." He gestured to her worn battered shoes, "Those ya got on yer feet won't last ya through another winter."

Carol glanced down at her shoes. "Oh." She couldn't find the words to tell him why she wore them, wasn't sure if he would even understand, or if he would think she was just stupid. She kept those shoes, wore them even with the holes...because they were the last and final link she had to her old life, to Sophia, to Ed. And she wore them even though they caused her discomfort, because deep down she never really thought she was good enough. Ed had told her that often enough, and even though he was long since dead, his words still haunted her.

Reluctantly, she cast her eyes to the boots littered across the floor, and grabbed a pair she thought would fit. Long rugged black ones, thick soled with a lot of buckles. She thought they'd seem sturdy enough. Kicking off her old shoes, she pulled the boots on.

Standing back, and feeling a bit silly, she said, "Are these good enough for you?"

Daryl's eyes gleamed at her. "Mhm."

Bending down, she picked her old shoes up off the floor.

"Leave those," he said moving towards the door, gesturing to the shoes in her hand.

"No," she said quickly, "I can't..."

Daryl paused, his shoulders hunching. He said softly, "Ya don't need those no more. Ya got me."

She felt the breath catch in her throat, and the sudden prickle of tears in her eyes. She reached down, her hand brushing against his, a lone tear spilling from her eyes as she felt his hand catch hers, entwining her fingers tightly within his. She thought her heart would burst from joy.

As they walked out the store, she never gave those battered old shoes a second glance.

...


	4. Yellow

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I would like to thank everyone that has left a review, favourited /followed this story. Your kind words mean a lot, and are ever so gratefully appreciated. Thank you._

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><p><em>...<em>

**Yellow**

Carol sat at the wooden kitchen table, mug clasped in one hand, chewing nervously on a fingernail. The slow steady thumps of her heart belied that surging anxiety that she was trying to hold down and suppress. They had been here, Alexandria, for just two days, and already Carol's nerves were taught, over stretched. It felt easier to be constantly on the move, running, fighting, roaming than this feeling of static nothingness, waiting for the inevitable bad to happen, because inevitably it _always_ did catch up to them.

The first few rays of a glorious new morning filtered finely through the windowpane, _actual glass, clean and unbroken,_ and she glanced up squinting slightly, a small worried frown puckering her lips downwards, the thought of something so trivial as to be looking out of a window striking her now as an abnormal act.

Glancing down, she ran her fingertips over the edge of the chipped porcelain mug, the smell of coffee bitter and strong, slightly stinging her nose. It all felt so normal, and it all felt so very wrong.

She had woken early, senses fine tuned from being so long on the run, the compulsion to wake at first light, to scour unmarked perimeters, to wait and watch boiled strongly within herself. Wryly she thought that the hunter in Daryl had somehow rubbed off on her through their long association. Normally it would have been him waking at first light.

They had all been allocated temporary housing until their integration into this new community. Their group had been split into three, and Carol knew only to well that Rick would be feeling the same as herself, probably was even pacing like a caged tiger at this moment. Like Carol, Rick had protested largely that their group shouldn't be split up...but the decision had not been his to make, and as much as he'd protested and kicked off, the matter was snatched firmly out of his hands by a group of strangers.

She took a sip of the rapidly cooling coffee, and wondered how she had ever drunk so much of it in the past. The bitterness stung her tongue unpleasantly.

The Alexandria officials that had greeted them at the gate, had mistakenly deferred to her as leader of their group, and while outwardly she had shown them no reaction, Rick had caught the small look she had given, and had nodded at her, his eyes boring into hers sharply. He wanted them to think this, and she had reluctantly accepted the role Rick had silently offered, knowing that scrutiny would be upon herself, not him, giving him the freedom to move, gauge reactions. As much as she didn't want this burden, as interim as it would be, she reluctantly accepted that it was the right choice.

Putting down the coffee mug, she rubbed at her forehead, at the headache threatening to form. Whether it was from stress, or the unused to side effect of strong caffeine, she wasn't sure. Probably it was both. Today she had a meeting to attend with the officials, and she desperately wished that she could see Rick, talk to him, formulate a plan, but she had been unable despite several attempts the previous day. A few guards wandering down the small street had persuaded her not to attempt it, and frustration growled largely in her.

She rose, taking her empty mug to the sink as she heard heavy footfalls on the stairs in the hallway. Reaching for the coffee pot, she poured herself another, hesitating, her hand poised over a spare mug. Footsteps clattered into the kitchen, and she called over her shoulder, "Want some coffee?"

A chair dragged across the worn linoleum, and a voice answered her gruffly, "Stuff tastes like shit."

"I'll make you some anyway," she said half smiling to herself.

"They won't let me hunt."

She turned to him, steaming mug in hand, placing it in front of him. She almost heard the pout in his voice. "Still?" she asked.

"Yeah, bunch'a assholes," Daryl grumbled.

Carol sat opposite him, noting the irritation looming on his face. She let out a long sigh,"Have that meeting this afternoon. Can't say I'm really looking forward to it."

"You'll be fine," he said, his eyes raising upwards, meeting hers, holding her gaze. His hand slid across the table top, capturing hers, his thumb brushing softly across her knuckles. "'ave every faith in ya. As Rick does, 'm sure."

Wanting to pull her hand away from his, she broke away from his earnest gaze, wondering what the hell had happened between them. As quick as he was lowering his barriers to her now, she was building her own back up. It had happened days after Grady, Daryl had been stricken between grief and worry. She had felt useless, pathetic, her injuries slowing her down, slowing the group down. Several times she had tried to leave, and every time Daryl had brought her back. He had kept this from Rick, from the others, choosing to guard and care for her, despite her feeble attempts to fend him off. And when they had been allocated housing, Daryl had gone with her. He slept in her room, opting to sleep on the floor. She supposed it was to make sure that she didn't attempt to run again, but he had made it more than obvious that his interest lay in other directions. Something which she would have passionately welcomed a few months ago.

Carol quietly watched as he drank his coffee, while she left hers cooling on the table top. His hand had left hers, and was now absently scratching at the wispy hair on his chin between sips. His eyes caught hers again, and he smiled darkly. She glanced away quickly, trying to ignore the warmth that coursed through her body at his almost appraising look. She didn't deserve it, she didn't deserve his emotions, his unfaltering loyalty. He would leave her if he found out what had happened to the girls. He still didn't know about Lizzie, about Mika, it was a torpid secret that only she and Tyreese shared. He didn't need to hear about any more dead girls, his grief at losing Beth at the hospital had almost destroyed him.

Sighing again, Carol glanced around the kitchen. She remembered once, what now seemed an eternity ago, that she had decorated a room much in this manner. She had been happy and naive then, only just married, babe on the way, and the maternal nesting emotions had stirred her to redecorate almost every room in the small house that they'd bought. Their kitchen had been her favourite, done out in a pretty yellow, not unlike the room she now sat in. She only hoped that this room would not echo with the same sorrow and fear that had happened back then.

_Beth had worn yellow the day she had died._

She hadn't heard him move towards her, only jumping when his hands descended onto her shoulders. Her heart yammered briefly in her chest with fear, and she stiffened under his touch. She felt the light kiss he pressed to the side of her head, and not being able to stop herself, she pushed his hands off, almost leaping out of the chair. "Stop," she pleaded, her voice breaking under the word.

"Don't shut me out," Daryl warned as he closed the space between them. "I won't let ya."

"Rick was right when he banished me. I'm a danger. You're better off without me. I will leave after this meeting," she replied quickly, stepping back, trying to put more space between them, grimacing as he kept pace with her.

"'s'crap, and Rick was wrong. I keep tellin' ya woman. When will ya listen to me?"

"No, when will you listen, Daryl?" she spat. "Everyone I care about dies. I wont care for you, I wont allow you to die."

His hand snaked out, grabbing her arm tightly, almost painfully. His fingers dug into her. "Bullshit," Daryl hissed, pulling her to him. "I ain't goin' any damn where, and neither are you."

Carol stood stiffly in his awkward embrace, his arm tightly wound around her back, holding her steadily against him. She grit her teeth as his other hand brushed against her head, pushing her gently to his chest. His heartbeat danced maddeningly against her cheek, and she closed her eyes to the sound.

His cheek pressed against her head, his lips grazing the tip of her ear. "I nearly lost ya at Grady, ya don't know what that did to me. I ain't ever gonna lose you like that. No fuckin' way." His voice was coarse with barely held back emotion, and Carol felt the unbidden sting of tears in her eyes. Reflexively, her arm slipped around his waist before she could stop herself. His mouth ghosted at her ear again, voice low and breaking, his breath warm and alive. "I...I love ya, an' I'm a fuckin' jackass for not sayin' it sooner. Told myself I'd tell you, but ya keep pushin' me away. I ain't letting ya fuckin' go."

Carol felt all the fight drain from herself and she slumped wearily into his arms. Hesitantly, she raised her face to his, seeing with fear the tears misting his eyes. He kissed her forehead and she closed her eyes again to his touch, not trusting herself. She only hoped that she was wrong, and he wouldn't pay the price for caring for her.

...


	5. Fade (Yellow part 2)

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

_a/n: I would like to thank everyone that has left a review, favourited /followed this story. Your kind words mean a lot, and are ever so gratefully appreciated. Thank you._

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><p><em>...<em>

**Fade (Yellow part 2)**

She paused there for a moment, struggling against the emotions, unwanted memories threatening to overwhelm and bury her, as she stood enclosed within the safe circle of his arms. Daryl's head was still tilted against hers, the rough of his stubble scratching against her cheek in a manner that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Unbidden warmth surged through her from the contact, and she knew that she had to do something, least she lost herself to him and his persistence.

He still didn't know what had happened at the grove, and maybe, _just maybe_ now it was time to tell him, to wonder if his shock would turn to fear, turn to disgust and fearful loathing, as she felt those same emotions herself. She had killed walkers, not even given it a thought, and she had killed people, and that guilt was tearing her apart. First Karen and David, and although it was a mercy killing, they had been _suffering_...her first thought had been the sheer desperate need to protect her family, protect the children in the group. Always the children. She couldn't save Sophia from her fate and she had been damned that any more would die. But she had been wrong.

And now, what made her any different to the monsters that roamed?

Pushing herself away from him, feeling his arms tighten momentarily before loosening, she stammered at him, "I killed her...I-I shot her, and she is dead, they are all dead...and I should have known, I should have seen it."

Daryl blinked at her slowly in confusion, "Shot who?"

Carol glanced at the floor, at his mud grimed boots, not daring to look at his face. Her throat felt suddenly dry, despite the coffee she had drunk. She licked her lips nervously. "Lizzie."

"Shit," his voice was suddenly low, a taut breath of shallow air. "What happened?"

She found she couldn't breath, hating the feel of fresh tears in her eyes as if they were an accusation. The linoleum of the kitchen loomed largely before her eyes, and she gulped at the abrupt tightness in her chest, at the wave of dizziness that started to engulf her, the blackness starting to spin before her eyes. His hand grasped her forearm tightly, steadying her, and glancing up at him, she sighed as she felt the world tilt itself, as he grounded her.

"Tell me, 'm here. What happened?" Daryl asked, his voice thick, laced with concern.

"It happened after Rick, after he'd sent me away..."

"Mhm," Daryl growled tersely, "and I ain't forgiven him for that."

Carol gave him a small tight smile. "I found Tyreese, and the girls. Lizzie, Mika and Judith. Seemed we were all heading for Terminus, walking those same train tracks. Tyreese, I don't think he was doing so well, and with three young girls, it isn't hard to imagine. I don't know what he went through to protect them, but he kept those girls alive for I have no idea how long. I was _just_ _so_ happy to see them all."

Daryl didn't say anything, just kept his hold on her arm, rubbing his thumb against the thin shirt covering her arm, almost as if he was trying to reassure her, for her to continue by his gentle touch alone and not words. She licked her lips again, trying to put into order the jumbled words that she was too frightened to express. "We found a small house, in a clearing..."

The sudden sound of footsteps clattering into the kitchen caused her to pull back sharply, and she heard Daryl hiss under his breath, before turning his head angrily. "For fuck's sake Glenn!" he spat.

"Hey," Glenn said, stopping as his eyes widened, taking in the sight of them stood close together, Daryl's hand gripping her arm, she obviously seeming upset and the hunter stood there glowering menacingly. "Carol?" he questioned, "Is everything okay?"

Carol nodded quickly, "We're fine, Glenn." She offered him a small wan smile, but the doubt did not leave the younger man's eyes.

"Glenn? Get the fuck out'a here," Daryl retorted hotly.

Glenn looked at him, deliberately walking towards them, towards Carol. "Whoa dude, we live here too."

"Yeah, an' yer timing suck's ass."

"Chill man, Maggie wanted coffee..." he trailed off, sneaking another look at her. "Carol, are you sure everything's okay?"

Carol loosened her arm from Daryl's grip, stepping towards Glenn. She squeezed his shoulder lightly, silently thanking him for the concern that echoed in his eyes. She couldn't fight against the surge of affection that she felt for the young man. He had always been one of the first to speak out in her defence, no matter what.

Glancing quickly over Glenn's shoulder at Daryl, she turned and fled to the only place that she could.

...

Carol sat down on her bed heavily, heart racing. She wiped her hands on the knees of her trousers, trying to still their faint nervous tremble. She felt weighted down with the burden of guilt and loss, and also fear- fear of losing him when she finally admitted what she had done.

She didn't hear the soft snicker of her door opening, the faint click as it shut. She didn't see him stood there, quietly regarding her, a sad haunted look painted on his face and in his eyes. She didn't look as he sat down on the bed next to her, only glancing up at as he took one of her hands between his. His head fell towards her, resting gently on her shoulder, and she bit her lip as she felt the tears start to spring to her eyes. She leant her head against his, closing her eyes as they sat together in a momentary silence.

"You don't have to tell me what happened. It don't matter what ye did," he murmured suddenly, raising his head to look at her through the shaggy curtains of his hair. "I jus need ya, here with me." He moved one hand from hers, his finger pausing before wiping the tear as it fell from her eyes.

Their faces were so close that their foreheads almost touched. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. "Daryl, I..."

His lips tentatively brushed against hers, silencing her. Carol felt the blood thunder loudly in her ears, and despite herself, she leant back into him, pressing her lips more firmly to his, deepening the kiss. His rough calloused hand smoothed across her skin, cupping the back of her head, pressing her to him, his lips moving more firmly and eagerly over hers at her response. His other hand slipped about her waist, fingers ghosting across and under the tail of her shirt, his fingertips trailing across the skin there. She gasped slightly, her senses returning, and feeling her face flush hotly, she broke the kiss, edging away from him.

"I have to go, get ready for this meeting..." Carol trailed off, seeing the same hot flush to his face, his narrowed blue eyes.

"Naw," Daryl said, shaking his head. "Ya don't have to go for hours yet." He tightened his arm around her waist, drawing her nearer to him. "'M here if ya wanna talk, and 'm here if ya don't wanna. 'S no problem."

Carol looked at him, seeing his earnest warm expression, and suddenly, she wanted to tell him, she didn't want there to be any secrets between them. This had been held from him for too long.

She ran a hand over her face, and took a deep breath, feeling his hand on hers again, his fingers entwining hers. She gave a him a quick wan smile, and squeezed his hand.

"Tyreese was good with those girls, he'd protected them...but I could see he was tired, and he seemed relieved to see me. And I was so happy to see them there, all safe. But something was wrong, and we didn't realise just what was wrong until we found that house and camped there." She sighed, "Lizzie wasn't reacting to the walkers as she should...she would get angry when we put them down. It wasn't normal, I caught her playing with one..."

Daryl frowned at her, "What ya mean, playing?"

She shrugged, "as in playing 'tag'. You know how kids play tag with each other? Except it wasn't Mika she was playing with. It was a walker. I killed it, and Lizzie was so mad at me, so angry. Blamed me for killing her _friend_," Carol laughed bitterly. "I should have realised at that moment. But I didn't, not really, not then. I don't think Tyreese did either."

"Hell, don't blame yourself," Daryl said quietly.

"I _should_ have known, Daryl. We were watching for walkers when _it_ happened. We'd left Lizzie with Mika and Judith. And when we got back, Mika was dead. Lizzie had stabbed her over and over again. Poor sweet little Mika was dead, and Lizzie was stood there waiting for her sister to turn." Her voice broke then, and she didn't stop the tears in her eyes from spilling onto her cheeks. Clamping a hand to her mouth, she struggled against the sob in her throat, the sound making the breath hiss from Daryl. He pulled her roughly to him, his arm banding around her as she buried her face into his chest.

"S..she wanted to kill Judith, wanted her to turn too. I had to take Lizzie from them, and I had to put her down...like she wasn't a child at all, like she was a _damned walker_. And I shot her. I didn't know what else to do, Tyreese agreed that she was a danger, how could we trust her? She killed Mika...and would have killed Judith too."

"Jesus Christ, Carol. 'M so fucking sorry," he whispered.

Carol raised her head, tears streaming down her face. Choking back a sob, she tried to push away from him. But his arm held her tight. Glancing at him, she wondered at the fact that it wasn't fear or revulsion on his face, but warmth, understanding and compassion. His eyes were misted with tears. He raised his hand and gently smeared the tears from her cheeks, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, before pushing her head back to his chest. She listened to the strong thump of his heart, placing her palm there as if to capture the sound to her skin.

"You're the strongest, most compassionate person I've ever known. Everthing you've ever done has been to look out for our family, our group. We've all done shit things, its'a shit assed fucked up world out there. But it don't make us bad." Daryl placed his fingers under her chin, tilting her face towards him, his eyes meeting hers, holding her gaze. "Yer a good woman Carol, and 'm proud of ya. Every single day, an' I don't want ya thinking any different." He tucked her back under his chin, one hand smoothing the hair at the back of her neck.

She thought then, of all the times that she had risen from the ashes just to burn all over again, and maybe now there was no need for that. She could just let herself fade, and become anew in his unrelenting presence.

...


End file.
